Dead Girls Don't Smile

Dearest

Delia, on the sixth month, 28th

year I called up on your family at

406 West 15, brought modest gifts

in form of light fare. Grace was

so sweet, glowing with such

child-like glee. Her kisses placed

on my cheek told me. I made up my

mind to consume your daughter

right then and there (Her warmth,

her laugh, her body. Her youth her

lips her skin) and so formed a

pretense of gatherings, of

affairs. Received your blessings

Delia, when asked to bring your

daughter there. She picked the

wildflowers hillside as I, I shed

attire in fear her blood ever

stained. Through picking out

posies, cold cheeks oh so rosy,

she stepped in the manor she'd

rest in. Her blood ever stained

these wood floors. She tried to

flee vainly crying out your name

when she sensed the danger upon

sighting my worn frame. Oh how did

she kick, bite and scratch but

racing hearts will calm with

convincing touches slowing acts of

human instinct 'til all will is

gone. Still how sweet and tender

young Grace was without spirits.

Certifiably, as little more than a

summer's week I'd feast upon her

flesh, her organs, legs, her arms,

torso and neck. Oh such sweet

Grace. Her warmth, her laugh, her

body. Her youth, her lips and her

skin. If only 'gain. Rest assured

dear, your daughter would remain

entirely pure until the end of all

her shortened days.